


The Outcast Hears

by faythyboo123



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Classical Music, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Music, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Marriage, Reflection, Romance, Sad, Self-Reflection, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:29:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faythyboo123/pseuds/faythyboo123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock reflects upon the sweet years spent with his assistant and his husband, John, who had given him a second chance at life. It seemed like he was his saving grace against an uncanny universe. Love prevails and gives face to the memories of an outcast while the lyrics of Sherlock's favorite composition float warmly in loving memory of John Watson-Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "No One Would Listen" from The Phantom of the Opera

_ John. _

His portrait remained untouched on the mantle of their shared fireplace next to Sherlock’s trusted skull. John always hated to admit that he actually took  interest in that bloody skull. Nevertheless, he occasionally commented on how it somehow brought a delightful character to the flat that they shared at 221B Baker Street. 

Dust collected upon the aged frame, which panged at Sherlock’s conscious with a tad bit of regret. John would have snipped at how the flat’s condition remained now-a-days, but somehow, he couldn’t manage to keep it straight without finding any old object that brought John back to life.

The chords from his Hill Oakwood violin usually brought him comfort on days like these--the seemingly unproductive grogginess that lurked around the London atmosphere at the peak of the fall season. 

His latest composition was drafted as more of a transcription of a melody that Sherlock thought as the precise story of his life prior to the adventures he would share with his flatmate and also the legacy that he created in his life along the way.  

The chord was press. The bow place at the beginning position. And thus, he began.

_ No one would listen-- _

“Sherlock! How could you possibly know that the felon would break into the security systems just to have access to the drug affiliates of Dr. Myles?” Lestrade exclaimed with disbelief in his voice following the quick deductions slammed into the air by Sherlock

“Entrance codes match with the codes only shared with personal trustees of Dr. Myles. However, none of the specific combinations were used, so why would this happen? Forensic evidence shows that an extreme heat source was used to break in without setting off any security system, in which only the personnel could have knowledge of the files specific location in the headquarters, going by the time of entrance and time of break in, which was separated by less than a minute. The culprit knew exactly which files would bring down Myles’ empire. Now that we have the boss of the underworld, the destruction is only growing stronger by the second and by whom? Someone from his team that might have had a personal motive to go by. Must have had a competition over the years, likely four years, going by the state of the records shared by---”

Sherlock thumbed through a plump stack of documents to pluck out the only logical suspect that remained in the illegal corporation.

“Erick Noland. Has been in the system for, well look at here! Four years to the date. Businessman with a heavy record of smuggling drugs in Eastern Africa, but has sweeping it under the rug from Myles.” 

John Watson took interest in how fast this scheme had fell into place and had been decoded in the split second that it had been presented to Sherlock.

“So, how do you know it was a personal motive? Could have been for the extra pound to be earned?”

Sherlock shrugged the idea behind and cleared his stance.

“Unlikely. If it had been for the money, he would have made the corporations foundation collapse long ago. It was more than the picture given to us. A power play. He was sick of his end not thriving to the full momentum of Dr. Myles. So, in this case, his corporations in Africa were sought after for some time and the only way for those plans would be achieved was through the documents that he stole from the headquarters here. Plan: get the information, trade off on secret deals, grow exponentially and by the time Myles picked up on it, kill the Doctor.”

The team at Scotland Yard shot each other glances of disbelief as Sherlock concluded with a pang of matter-of-fact charisma. 

“However, we caught the boss before his death could proceed and now Noland is in a frenzy. According to the records at the airport, he will boarding the next flight and leaving promptly if you don’t get there soon.”

Lestrade’s concern grew exponentially in his eyes while Donovan flatly rolled her own. Of course, she would take no interest in the geniusness that had been practiced in front of her and quite frankly, very little people ever did.

Sherlock heard a hoarse cough nearby him and he prompted around at the sound. It was John that flickered his smirk in delight from the performance that his new flatmate put on.

“That was… Quite extraordinary. Have you seriously never won a Nobel prize in your life?” He chuckled as Sherlock looked back at his laughing expression.

Was this even real? How could anyone ever take him seriously as he spouted out about the not-so-obvious evidence of any crime?

“Most people seem to think elsewise. Being exposed to factual evidence seems to rub them raw, I suppose.” He smiled flatly at the awkward situation flaunted around the two.

“Well, I believe that you have quite an agile mentality. Anyone that has a problem with it is evidently blind to the authenticity of human intellect.” John chuckled as he broke the ice with the detective.

This was unusual. No one had ever grabbed Sherlock’s attention so quickly and so effectively such as the individual in front of him.  Something about the tone of John’s voice seemed so breathtaking as he continued to rage about his wonder over Sherlock. This was no ordinary civilian in present day London.

Sherlock was able to rip John apart piece by piece about his past in the military and the horrific experiences that he dealt with day by day between shooting at people, losing patients, dealing with his sister’s alcohol abuse and on top of that, his recurring exposure to abuse from his father for many years. Yet, even when his raw organ were laid out flat in front of him, Sherlock was… fantastic? A wondrous hybrid of intellect and human qualities? What was with this idiot? Had he no brain to just leave him like most people do? To prevent himself from being hurt once more?

“You know Sherlock, I believe that the human is capable of taking a lot of external inflicted abuse. It takes the depression of the world rather obediently, physically and emotionally. And who knows, maybe two blokes that took the shit continuously could help bring back the foundation of life again.” John gleamed as Sherlock was brought back to reality from the words he breathed to life.

\---------------

_ No one would listen. _

__ _ No one but him, heard as the outcast hears…. _

_ \--------------- _

__

 


	2. Isolation Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock steadily drafts the first letter written to John in a very long time. Some things are emotionally difficult to revisit, however, the greatness of mutual bliss overcomes the pain once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Implications of abuse, rape and extreme bullying will follow.  
> Italicize- Quotes from past memories/singing of lyrics  
> Bold-letter/present day thoughts of Sherlock or current narrator.

_               Shamed into solitude. _

_                                                                                                      Shunned by the multitude. _

_ \--------------------------------------------------- _

**April 8, 2037**

**John,**

**There were times, I suppose, that my behavior became undoubtedly inexplicable. There are moments in still life that I take the time to reflect upon the events that transpired in my adolescence that gave way to some of my unfavorable habits.**

**You see, there came times when I couldn’t handle the blandness of the external world. Constantly rambling past the important details of the teachers’ lectures was too exasperating for a child genius of age 11 back in my school days. As you may know, my wit over all such things overrides the pride of any individual. I shut them down without a second of remorse to dwell upon. I latched onto this habit after seeing my own mother constantly being put down for the things she was passionate about from our father. Or, at least, the things she once stood for dearly. Interestingly, for a child that wasn’t fit enough to stand against the harassment the older children, I was insistent of it as each confrontation of the play yard gang became more nettled in mood. Looking back, I understood why the twats thought it best to pound my ass into the ground.**

**Such regular minded souls have little time to understand life in a microbiological sense. It takes too much cerebral capacity for air headed blokes to analyze the scenario presented unto them with just enough physical evidence and a whole lot of rhetoric to go off of to set the record straight and punish someone that is responsible. Yet again, who is there out beyond my understanding that would share interest in such trivial things to the standard individual? John, you must know that I am a man neither of manipulation nor dishonesty, not matter how harrowing my deductions become.**

**I believe you said it best when it came to the reality of human understanding.**

_ “It is all vague in actuality. The line between truth and deceit can never truly be defined if there is no one there to sketch it.”  _

**Enlighten me, John. When was it when that certain individual wrecked the line for you? Was it the long nights with Harry when she finally reached over “one too many” and each time tried to suffocate you to death when you were just a child? Or perhaps it was the times that your one mate you trusted the most during training savagely ripped your innocence away from your reach over and over again, swallowing up what pride you had left in the end of each time? Maybe it was the instance that children were being splattered across the battlefield back in your active days, knowing that the enemy was mocking your inability to bring the lost souls back to earth again. Tell me, John. Why is it that after all of your traumatic memories of your past, you still took the chance to confide in my abilities? Was it because in reality you trusted the word around London that in actuality I was the grotesque monster everyone saw? Was it then that you wanted to be reminded of your tragedies through the fiend in front of you? Congratulations, my dear. It is at this time you have been granted your heart's desire. Maybe now I can inflict at least the partial amount of torment that you have unleashed since then. Maybe now you can loath this wretch that you once called your spouse.**

**Please, John. Hate me. For the love of God, just hate me so that I can let go…..**

**Darling.**

**Why must you do this to me? Provoke the inner demons that toil within the darkness that resides in me? It’s because of you that I have fell once again in the muck of my own despair. If I at least see you in my dreams, the greatness of this hurt is revived once more. How could you ever grasp the idea of this hell that you have left me in?**

**You, my dear, were the saving grace amidst my isolation.**

**Although you arrived later in life, it was as if you had been watching idly beyond and waiting for the moment to arrive during great necessity.**

**You always understood for me. Although there were many times that you didn’t get it, you understood. You didn’t question. Though, sometimes, we argued.**

**But. You never accounted me for my mistakes.**

**Is it inferior for me to admit that you have been the only one to settle me into the motions of “real life”, as you always labeled it? Not even Mycroft in our younger days possessed the ability to lead me down the right path, though I trusted him with every fiber within me.**

**8 years of cocaine, yet I was the fool?**

**Mother, it helps me.**

**Father, you wouldn’t understand the need for me to one up you.**

**Brother mine, what would you know? Fuck off and leave me be.**

**……**

**You know something, John.**

**One of the first nights we engulfed ourselves in a deep, intellectual conversation was perhaps one of the most glistening, star struck moments we shared.**

**I held back. You seemed nervous. Well, what the hell, we knew each other for a while, but evidently not too terribly long.**

**Is it foolish to admit that your ideas flowed charismatically off of your tongue?**

**I blinked several times before your sentence had reached its conclusion.**

**Now that I remember stalely, it was** **_Ron Zacapa XO._ **

**That, right there, was a dangerous scene. Only because we found out that you rolled into emotions quite heavily while I, myself, imprisoned my own only for them to accumulate to risky levels.**

**The soft heat on your face gradually beated to the surface as the laughing we shared grew intense. Because someone was utilizing their own time to share their thoughts on biological warfare and rising empires of secret societies with someone such as myself was a bit astonishing. In fact, it was the reason I first became infatuated with you.**

**Your sensual, hazed look prowled at the rhythmic beating of my heart. A very irregular tempo was set with no plans of moving a tempo any time soon.**

**You confused me, John. You still do. You have a way of knowing the definite trigger points of Sherlock Holmes, and you damn well know how to set them off while looking divine at the same time.**

**How I long to brush the tips of my fingers across your cheek like I impulsively proceeded to do that night. Would your glow radiate for me just once more, to show how authentic your being once was? Would you shakingly grasp on to the crinkling folds of my shirt in the same hankering fashion to reciprocate my interest like you did on that fateful night.**

**I feared that I acted on instinct too harshly in the following moment. Oh, but my sweet darling, how wondrous it was to be alive in that moment with our lips shared in mutual bliss! Your form toned to accent the hard inflictions of life upon yourself. How is it that you managed to end up here in this flat with this sociopath and these utterly fucked up conditions of life? My whirlwind of question must have been expressed in the way that I held you during the passionate endearment with one another, because all I felt in the moments to follow was a faint smile upon your face while all eyes were closed.**

**I risked to peak beyond my peeled eyes and how your radiance beamed amidst ironic laughter. However you seemed to imagine it, my interpretation bellowed the matter-of-fact tone in your voice as you soon proceeded to prove me.**

_ “You are quite the oddball if you couldn’t figure it out by now. I have been expecting you for quite some time Mr. Holmes.” _


End file.
